Chapter Text
>1, 6
“Several interdependent tasks lay ahead: to learn the local language; to establish our presence in trade ties; to construct a tower; to construct a laboratory; to conduct research on the conditions of this plane; to study the conditions of the castle and what spellcraft and other supernatural elements are present here, which would probably include attempting to train talented natives in their gifts; to explore the North on foot; and to search for the enemy, if they are here. The effectiveness of research depends on a capable laboratory; the effectiveness of constructing a capable and safe research environment depends on both tower construction and procurement; tower construction depends on analysing local supernatural conditions; the safety of both exploration and seeking our foe depend on a secure base of operations; and the wisdom of staying here at all in a moment of strategic blindness is as questionable as it is nigh-unavoidable.
“Personally, the only single task I cannot conscion not exerting every effort towards is learning the Westerosi language. The cost is simply too high. Everything else is important, but it is not for me to say which matters most.”
“Do you think we really need to spend so many spells on language?” Anya asks. “We usually pick them up pretty quick anyway.”
“Curse words first, in your case,” you say, smiling.
“Naturally. I’ve already picked up ‘shit,’ ‘fuck,’ ‘bastard,’ ‘whore,’ and ‘cock,’” Anya says with a grin to match. “But fine. We do need to learn rather faster than usual.”
Soren sighs, shaking his head at his senior cleric’s eccentricities. “I say we scout, whatever form it takes. If the enemy’s out there, we need to know, and we need to be ready. I don’t disagree with the High Cle- with Anya about learning the language, though, especially if you can make it faster somehow.”
“Eva?”
“I really want to get out there and feel the world,” she says. “But I think there’s plenty enough to keep us busy here, and we should really focus on getting a feel for the place before trying anything. And I can fly without spending any spells when I want to take a look around.”
“If it helps,” Lukas says, “my father was a merchant, I remember plenty of the tricks of the trade. I can work on the procurement side of things for a laboratory and tower, whatever we decide here. Obviously I cannot teleport, I’m afraid, so it’ll have to be local.”
“Even if all you can do is put in a good name for us among the merchants here, I’d happily see you put my money to work,” you say. “Admittedly, I don’t have too much capital to supply, as I’m not in the habit of carrying my worldly fortune on my person everywhere I go.”
“What we have will probably go a long way, judging by the reactions I got from gold down in the town.”
“All the better. We can talk about priorities for purchase later.”
>
“I am much in agreement about mastering the local tongue,” Emíl says. “Other than that, I would say, let us not seek the enemy just yet, not without somewhere to retreat to. And talk of research is over my head, I admit, so perhaps I am very much mistaken, but I do not feel we should be chasing clouds when we need our eyes on the ground.”
You nod along, considering all you’ve heard. “I believe that leaves only Senna. What is your opinion?”
The girl perks up from focusing on her food, straightening and looking intently at you. “Observation. Intelligence. Integration.”
“You say we should be analysing our local environment as well, then.”
She nods slowly, golden eyes unblinking. “Understand, then strike.”
You give the girl a curious look. She seems completely changed, a far cry from the twitchy stray that is her usual demeanour. Something clicks into place in your mind then. You’ve heard language like that before, and seen that cold, still expression. This girl was an assassin. A true professional, or she was once. Most major nations would not train small children for the work, nor would common criminals care to invest in training to her level of excellence, nor could many manage it if they tried; she must have been trained by someone far worse, for purposes darker than espionage and smuggling.
“It seems we are resolved,” you say. “We learn, and we analyse. We keep to the fundamentals. It is perhaps for the best; building a tower here is not the same as building on an empty field, and neither would be a laboratory and any experiments we carry out in one. Truth be told, I thought there’d be more… well, contention, on the subject.”
“As much as I want to chase Nightfuckers down with all haste, we’re not remotely in a position to do that,” Anya says. “Best to keep our heads down in any event, since we’re not in much of a position to face them if they find us first either.” There were general nods of agreement around the table.
“Then, all that remains is to decide our services, and the terms of employment. I have made the offer to Lord Stark already of arcane security services and structural defences. What do you each intend to provide, for those who are?”
“Eva and I have already discussed healing,” Anya says. “Low-level restorations should go a long way here and they’re no real burden.”
“And I’d be training their warriors even without a contract, but I’ll take one anyhow,” Soren says.
“I’ll see what I can teach the kids, if Lord Stark says it’s okay,” Eva says. “And a little on the side, even if he says no, ‘cause they’ll need help with those pups.”
“If they’re amenable, I can show their smiths some tricks I’m certain the locals have never imagined,” Lukas says. “Otherwise, shot and blade, the standard.”
>
“Likewise myself, for shot and blade and spell,” Emíl says. “And I do not at all mind performing more, given such an appreciative audience as we had last night.”
“Right. Onto specifics,” you say, withdrawing a piece of paper and putting items to pen. “My standard contracts reserve a number and arrangement of spells for experimentation and crafting, typically around a quarter to a third per day on working days. Anya and Eva, you’ve taken similar contracts in the past; is this amenable for our purposes here?”
Anya nods. “The usual. No need to change it.”
“I’m definitely keeping my one seventh-level spell, though,” Eva says. “And since I can’t spontaneously heal, curative work’ll have to be scheduled.”
“Very well. And Emíl, you have significant casting abilities; do you intend to cast at discretion, or would be willing to reserve set baselines to our various purposes? Preparative and spontaneous arcane casting do not mix cleanly in rituals, so I would not normally suggest it, but we are hardly attempting anything delicate yet, and with so little power to go around as it is, every ounce matters.”
“I am more accustomed to contracts of discretion, as you say, as a bard’s songs are not sought for in the ritual work of wizards; but, if you have use for me, Alyssa, then gladly I will offer as much as you need.”
“Would you contribute both of your fifth-levels every day?”
Emíl scratches his chin, and smiles. “Seeming and Shadow Evocation are useful, but I believe I can survive well enough without for a few weeks. If that is all, then yes, I will give these.”
“That will offset much of the raw strength I would otherwise be expending in basic diagnostics. Thank you, Emíl.”
“You are welcome. I do also possess Cure Moderate and Cure Critical Wounds, though only for battlefield triage; I cannot offer restorative aid.”
“I’m certain our hosts will very much appreciate it all the same.” You give the emerging list a once-over, building a picture of what will be possible over the next few weeks based on the numbers involved. “Lastly, there’s compensation. Or, the lack of it. We’re providing advanced work for what amounts to room, board, and tentative trust; that is not nothing in this land, but it is far below any price we would normally work for. This venture should be understood as an investment, it seems. I fear we can expect little else. Still, is there anything I should request in specific?”
“We have bigger things to worry about than cash,” Soren says bluntly.
“True enough. I for one can wait for Cuvan gold back home,” Lukas says. “You high elves are miserly employers, but honest to the letter, and you’ve promised plenty enough for the trouble. Otherwise, I’ll need a workshop, office, and warehouse all separate from the tower. And an attorney familiar with taxes and duties and so on.”
>
“That should be easily accommodated,” you say, adding them to the list. “Once you have your space, bring me the iron and I’ll Fabricate your mills and lathes and engines. I don’t expect we’ll have much luck finding those here.”
“Much appreciated. Crucibles too, if you would; the castle smith here is still using bloomeries.”
“Understood.” You give the list another once-over. “If anyone wants to look this over, I’ll pass it around. It seems we have a plan, however.”
The list goes around the table, and with a few minor alterations, the proposal is ready. Table conversation turns to stories and speculation and other matters; fruit pies and ice cream and coffee are served; and finally, exhaustion takes you all to bed to rest and face the new day.
------
The meeting with the Stark household starts the instant you, Eva, and Soren walk through the doors of the lord’s solar. Wariness is on every face; Lord Stark sits in his chair, his wife standing beside him, with Maester Luwin and Vayon Poole resting behind desks and Ser Rodric Cassel and Keeper Brennan standing at attention to the right.
Lord Stark speaks without preamble, not even waiting for you to take your seat. “Lady NicNivara,” he says, slow and deliberate. “I know now clearly you do not exaggerate when you say you make the impossible real. Before all else, I need the truth: what do you intend for my home?”
“You are right to demand clarity. Before we proceed, I first must apologise for the damage to your roof yesterday. I will see it repaired, by my hands or your own craftsmen, whichever is your will.”
His eyes narrow, one brow rising ever so slightly, as if weighing whether you’re mocking him. “Do not be glib, Lady NicNivara. You have shown my household wonders - and terrors. My- Jon Arryn is dead. King Robert is coming here. No doubt it’s to drag me into more far-away matters I would rather have nothing to do with. Direwolves, south of the Wall for the first time in two hundred years. The King-Beyond-the-Wall is stirring. I have greater worries than broken tiles. But I cannot face them if my home is not in order.” He paused for a moment, jaw hard set. “Not when… dragons and giants roam the yards, and powers walk my halls that I cannot name.”
You nod in understanding. “Then let us name them, and speak materially - of the brass tacks, as my Corellian and Atmoran clients are wont to say. I will start with all that you witnessed in the yards yesterday morning.”
You all give the Starks a concise explanation of yesterday's match, emphasising throughout that these are all abilities governed by well-defined rules, however wondrous they may seem. Lord Stark and his retainers look visibly relieved with the new understanding, though clearly still far from pleased.
“What am I to tell the king about dragons and monsters, then?” Lord Stark asks. “Or my own lords bannerman?”
>
“I… acknowledge that our actions yesterday morning could be seen as heedless. We could have considered appearances more carefully than we did. All the same, honesty I believe was the wiser course. And we are capable of restraining ourselves for a time; you needn’t worry about me flying all over the North as a dragon and causing a panic. You may tell the king the same thing as I do: exactly what I am, nothing less.” You let that sink in before continuing, and he seems to take it reasonably well. “I have not yet answered your question as to our intentions, however. Having discussed the matter amongst ourselves, we intend to stay here until at least through the king’s visit, towards the end first and foremost of learning your language. Beyond that, circumstance must dictate.
“As to our specific terms of employment, those are enumerated here,” you say, indicating the folder you assembled the previous evening. “Obviously, as I cannot write in your tongue, they will need to be transcribed, and I am prepared to do so at first opportunity.”
You start to list your services and describe the function of the wards you plan to construct (with a small hitch at the mention of rituals, requiring you to explain that you do not deal in black masses and animal sacrifices - these are procedures, not rites, Keeper). The lord’s eyebrow climbs again as you work your way down the list, his expression turning from wariness to hinting of something like appraisal. His wife and retainers all glance and whisper back and forth. “And for this, you have asked for a tower?”
“And the free hand in commerce needed to repurpose it. There is an abandoned drum tower on the north side of the keep, old and weathered, but sound; that would suffice.”
“The First Keep? It’s true it’s gone unused for centuries,” Lord Stark says, considering the notion. “What exactly do you plan to do with the First Keep, dare I ask?”
“Live in it, for a start. I will rebuild and renovate the interior, construct a ritual chamber within. I will conduct most of my work there, well out of sight, though to finalise any wards I will need to do so on location. This will be quick, usually no more than minutes once preparations are complete, and can be done at night. All that said, the more immediate matter than wards is the need to construct a model of the spells underlying Winterfell-”
“Spells under-” Lord Stark interrupts. “You’re saying my castle stands on magic?”
“There is power here, yes. Old, deep, its spells written by persons or parties admittedly much stronger than myself, and built atop a source of natural energies as well. I expected you might already be aware.”
“What kind of powers? Be specific.”
>
“I would, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t know, though I can guess at certain effects. They are wards of some kind, defensive works, but the spells here aren’t the typical wards of a city or fortress. Given a few weeks, however, I could tell you exactly what Bran the Builder wrought here. All this is to say, we are not bringing strange foreign ‘magic’ into your home; it has always been here, and is your House’s heritage.”
Lord Stark and his household are quiet for a moment while they absorb the revelation. As they digest it, Eva leans in to you and whispers, “should I tell them now?”
“Probably for the best. The floor’s all yours.”
Eva stands, and clears her throat. “Pardon, everyone,” she says. “We’re not just talking about ancient spells here. Lord Stark, Lady Stark.”
“There’s more, is there?” the lord says, weary but not surprised. “Well, speak.”
“The direwolf pups you found yesterday. You gave them to your children. Why?”
“The direwolf is the symbol of our house. There were six pups: four male, two female. One for each of my children. They were meant to have them.” The way he spoke made it sound as if he was trying to convince himself. Clearly there is much more to that story, but Eva doesn’t pry.
“I can’t speak to omens, but if that’s what you believe, I think you’re exactly right. I told you earlier what druids like me are, how we draw on the primal energies of the world. One of the ways that manifests is the bond between a druid and their companion. When I watched your children yesterday, I saw that bond in all of them.”
There is a distinct collective intake of breaths. Lady Catelyn goes very still, back straight as a spear. “This… bond,” she repeats, voice tight and shallow. “You speak as though it is something already done.”
“It is,” Eva confirms. “Those wolves are a part of them for as long as they live… and a bonded companion lives every bit as long as any mortal.”
Lady Catelyn’s knuckles go white. For a long minute she is silent, eyes closed or distant, then fixing again on Eva like knives. “As long as they live. And if the wolf is hurt? If it dies? What will that do to my children?”
“Hurt. A lot. I’ve lost two before. It hurts, and it never really stops. It’s a cruel truth, I know. But losing their wolves won’t harm them, not even close; we grow, love again, and form bonds anew, and so will they.”
There is no relief in the lady’s form, but there is a slight release of pressure. “What does this mean then, this companion bond? How will it change my children?”
>
“Not as much as you’d think, I’d say. That’s the reason I raised the subject at all. The bond is empathic - we share feelings with our companions. Not sensations, it’s not like we feel actual pain if the other does, but joy, rage, fear, despair? That all bleeds through. And it’s subtle, especially at first, when the bond is new. They might not even notice it. But then, one day, they might lose their temper completely, and then there's a wolf the size of a horse by their side, ready to defend its master, whether they really want it to or not. And those wolves are gonna grow up quick: they’ll be as big and strong as dogs in a month and fully grown inside a year, and direwolves are as clever as men, or nearly. Your kids’ll need guidance. Real training. And I can do that for them. I can show them how to work with their wolves and keep things in check.”
“If this matter is done, it’s done. We will deal with it as we need,” Lord Stark says, face resting in his hand. “If it keeps those wolves controlled, teach as you will.”
Lady Catelyn is not so easily satisfied. “You said that *druids* bind to companions. What more is there? Will the children be like you in… other ways?”
Eva shrugs. “If you mean spellcasting and wildshaping, it’s possible. I really couldn't say without seeing them more. The touch of the wild isn’t just druidcraft, though; you can have bonds or casting or wildshape without the other parts. Then again, I can't say I've ever seen six kids in the same family with the touch, and honestly I've never actually trained human kids before.”
Lord Stark places a hand gently on his wife's forearm, and he and his household take a minute to digest and confer in hushed tones.
After a while, Maester Luwin breaks away from the discussion and looks to Eva with a skeptical expression. “Miss Elsähtti… you speak of humans as if you are not one.”
“I'm… not, though?”
“You are correct, Maester,” you say. “Myself, Anya, and Miss Elsähtti are elves. You might know our kind rather as Children of the Forest.”
What follows is dead, quiet stillness.
Keeper Brennan is pale, then red, eyes narrow. “That is a heavy mantle you place on your shoulders, outlander,” he says, in a tone like old gnarled oak. “The Children are gone, down into the earth and water.”
“Yours are, most likely. We are not the Children of your world. But I am certain we and they share a common origin in our most distant pasts. Your own stories recall that Brandon the Builder sought out the Children and learned their secrets; that is almost undoubtedly correct, if indeed he was not elvish himself, or the offspring of elvish and human parents.”
At first, Brennan seems affronted, as if you’ve intruded upon his most sacred space, which you have, but his expression soon turns pensive.
>
Maester Luwin jumps in instead without missing a beat with a long barrage of questions, and presently begins taking notes. What is an elf? What are the ‘Feywilds?’ Immortal, you say? Truly? Yes, Maester, I am 193, and still very young; Miss Elsähtti is only 76. My parents were born in the First Age and they’re doing quite well. The touch of the wild is heritable, yes. Lord Stark almost certainly has it, just not as strong, and Lady Catelyn, you might too, or one of your parents or grandparents did. It’s far more common for elves, but plenty of humans have it too, and indeed many humans have elvish blood. Special care? Those wolves are partners, not pets, so treat them like it. If you ever think they can understand you talking, well, yes, they can. No, the bond is voluntary, you have to want it even if you don’t know what you’re doing. Spellcraft? Time’ll tell. Interfere with anything? Oh no, they’ll grow up healthier than normal. It’s a gift, you know. Maybe a little strong-willed, but that’s just children for you, I think.
It’s hard to say what effect Luwin intends to have except to acquire information, but you’re not slow to miss the effect his comprehensive cataloguing has on his lord and lady. Within minutes, a terrible unknown becomes a walkable path, and the relief is plain; for the first time since you walked through the door, and probably for the first time since yesterday morning, they actually relax a hairsbreadth.
At length, Lord Stark brings the conversation to order. “We’ve heard enough for today,” he says. “Very well, Lady NicNivara, you have your tower. You and your company may stay and work as you will. But you will do nothing final without my leave. Anything wards or other spells as you think to work, you will report them directly to me.”
You smile. “Naturally, my lord. Those are already standard terms in this sort of contract. My schedule is already written in any event; I’ll have a transcription ready before the day is out.”
And now, your real work begins.
>Choose any short vignettes you want to see before King Robert arrives (no more than two):
>1) Alyssa’s ghetto rituals as she analyses anything remotely supernatural in the area
>2) Soren, Senna, and Lukas Making a Man out of You with Robb, Jon, and the rest of Winterfell’s poor under-levelled garrison
>3) Anya teaching Arya basic fencing stances in secret
>4) Eva talking to every animal, plant, and stone in the several-mile radius and teaching the Stark children how to do the same
>5) Senna climbing the walls with Bran
>6) Lukas introducing gunsmithing to Wintertown
>7) Anything else (write-in)
>9) Get on with it! (skip a bit and bring out Bobby B and the Golden L Gang)